


Halloween

by EasyTiga



Series: Easy Tiga's Thirst Tweets [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom Sam, Come Swallowing, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, Halloween Costumes, Horny Dean Winchester, M/M, Oblivious Sam Winchester, Possessive Dean Winchester, Top Dean, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26603494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasyTiga/pseuds/EasyTiga
Summary: Sam and Dean go to a Halloween party for a case and at least one of them can't keep their mind on the mission because of the outfit choice.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Easy Tiga's Thirst Tweets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935295
Comments: 13
Kudos: 313





	Halloween

Sam sets his eyes on Dean’s back, taking in his Fireman jacket. Of course he’s a Fireman. He’s decided to go without the hat, opting for a really long, winding-hose instead. Great. There’s probably some stupid pun waiting for him after he announces that he’s here. While Dean can more than make anything he wears… _Sexy_ , this is not a conventionally sexy outfit, so why the Hell is Sam stood here looking like one of Odin’s wife’s personal waiters? Gold-freaking cuffs and all?…

Sam clears his throat.

Dean doesn’t even flinch, Sam’s eyes catching the smug set to his shoulders before he’s spinning on his heel. “Hey, Sam, want me to spray you with my ho—my God—.” Sam frowns at him as Dean bends to collect his dropped hose. He strides over to Sam as soon as he’s gathered it up, stopping close enough that Sam can feel his breath warming his neck. “What the Hell, Sammy? Are you trying out for the next Clash of the Titans or some shit?”

“What? You said _wear something sexy,_ so I went to the closest store, told them that, they said they have the _perfect thing,_ practically shoved me into a changing room and scanned the tag. Are you telling me this isn’t what you meant by sexy?”

“I mean… It’s sexy, all right. Fucking Christ, is it sexy,” Dean says, biting his bottom lip, apparently having forgotten whatever he was about to say next as he starts reaching out his fingers to touch.

“Dude, the party,” Sam reminds him. Dean’s face pinches in annoyance, like he’s really put-out by the fact they have a case and he can’t ravish Sam on the spot. Fantastic. Just what Sam needs, Dean thinking with his dick instead of his head. What else is new? “What about you? Where’s _your_ sexy outfit?”

“You’re lookin’ at it. Take it all in, baby boy. Feast your eyes,” he replies, gesturing to his outfit.

“You’re an idiot. You could have picked a better time to mess with me.”

“You could go and change,” Dean says, like it physically pains him to get the words out. “I’m sure there’s something hanging around we can—”

“I’m here now, let’s just get this over with.”

“Right. Yeah. Sure. _Or_ … You could wear my jacket,” Dean suggests, moving to shrug out of it. “You must be freezin’ your ass off, right? Let me, a lowly mortal offer you the pleasant warmth of my peasant coat.”

Sam’s face says it all.

“Yeah, I didn’t think that was landing either.”

“Then why did you say it? Also, I don’t need a jacket. Come on.”

Dean sidles up next to him and feels his arm. “See? You’re practically an _ice-cube_. Just wear my jacket, Sam.”

“You’re delusional,” Sam snips, using the length of his legs to get out ahead of Dean, something his brother takes issue with as he squawks and jogs in front of him. “I’m not wearing your jacket,” Sam repeats, rolling his eyes when Dean bangs on the door before Sam can reach it.

It’s gonna be a long night.

===

Dean’s not okay. Not at all. Not even a little. Sam is looking like… like _sin_ personified with his freakin’ tight-ass-body combined with his outfit that is making Dean feel several types of ways. Dean can hardly keep his eyes off of him. Same goes for the party-goers, all their hungry peepers ogling the vast plains of Sam’s mouthwatering physique. A physique Dean has spent countless hours exploring, pressing, opening, filling—fuck. He’s so horny. Sam is just unbelievably fucking hot right now, and Dean has been pretty much erect since the moment he spun on his heel equipped with the one-liner of the century, fuck you very much, only to have it cut off at the knees when he took in the image of Sam’s God-like visage staring him in the face.

He’s drooling. Literally drooling, hand coming up to wipe the spit from the side of his mouth as Sam yaps on about who he thinks their target might be, while all Dean can do is imagine dropping to his knees and swallowing Sam whole, giving his cock the worship it God damn _deserves._ Dean doesn’t drop to his knees often. That shit is uncomfortable. But he would drop to them over a blanket of coal to feel Sam filling out the back of his throat, feel those thighs, that ass, quivering under his fingers—feel Sam’s tight, velvety hole spasming around his fingers as he jabs his prostate while swallowing down Sam’s potent, thick load.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean spots someone approach. He gives them a scornful look, putting every ounce of _I’ll rip your fucking lungs out if you come over here—_ that he can into it until they get the message, watching them fast-walk away from them. Luckily, at that point, Sam was staring off to the left, either in thought or because he saw something. Dean honestly hasn’t been paying all that much attention, too busy admiring the collum of Sam’s throat, the sheen of sweat glistening on his golden body, highlighting every curve, every divot for Dean to roam his hungry eyes over, fingers itching to touch all of that flesh, lick all of that salt off Sam, leaving him with nothing but Dean’s DNA imprinted on every part of him.

More and more eyes land on Sam’s form. Dean closes more distance between them, wishing Sam accepted his jacket when they were outside. He’s not tall enough to block all of Sam, however, he can cover most of him, training his glare on each and every son–or daughter—of a bitch that lingers a little too long, making it known through silent communication that Sam is irrevocably his.

Sam is still talking. Dean’s getting heated because his eyes aren’t getting the point across well enough. _More_ assholes are taking an interest, talking amongst their friends, probably trying to get up the courage to go over and talk to the literal God in their presence. Dean can’t have that. He’s already on edge with Sam looking the way that he is, so he cuts off whatever Sam is saying to seal their lips, a hand on the back of Sam’s neck guiding him down so Dean can shove his tongue down Sam’s throat, making sure all these dickbags notice the way Sam melts against him, arms coming around him, pressing them closer together, his legs automatically making room for Dean’s leg to slot between before he’s backing away from the kiss and giving Dean an affronted look.

“Dean. Not the time. We’ve got work to do,” Sam shouts over the music, wiping his mouth.

“Sorry,” Dean replies, not sorry in the slightest. Sam must know, if the eyeroll is any indication. “You have no idea what you look like right now, Sam. Christ.”

Sam looks adorably confused for a moment, scratching at his cheek before he crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, Dean. Later, when we’ve done our job, you can do whatever you want, but right now, I need you to focus.” 

Dean perks up immediately. “ _Anything_ I want?” Sam’s swallow doesn’t go unnoticed, Dean’s eyes tracking the tip of his head. “I like the sound of that.”

“So, you good? Ready to focus and help me do our jobs?”

“I’m awesome,” Dean says cheerily. “Couldn’t be better. Just… What did you say?”

“What part?”

A sheepish look crosses his face. He shrugs. “Just… maybe you should start from the beginning.”

Sam does not look impressed.

===

It turns out, Dean’s hose came in handy for more than just his pun, despite Sam’s assurance that it wasn’t worth the effort at all. Serves him right. If he hadn’t brought it with him, they wouldn’t be wrangling their monster of the week right now. Sam is acting as if Dean didn’t just save the day with his Fireman hose. He’s not taking the bait. Dean knows that, regardless of how much he’s pushing him.

“Would you stop going on about the hose? Yeah, I get that it’s a reference to your dick. I got that the first time. Can we just… get rid of this thing?”

“Oh, Sammy, I didn’t keep the receipt. Why would I exchange perfection?” Dean counters, cupping his groin. Sam sets his lips in a fine line. “A’right, a’right. Buzzkill.”

“You can burn the hose along with it.”

“What do you have against hoses, man?”

“Nothing. Just light it up, Johnny Mo.”

Dean decides it’s not worth going back and forth, dumps salt and lighter fluid on the corpse and, yes, lights it the fuck up.

===

After throwing their shovels into the trunk and closing Baby up, Dean has an idea. His eyes cut to the house they were at earlier, then train on Sam. He licks his lips, bottom lip tucking between his teeth before it springs forth.

“Sam, I’m thirsty. Wanna swing by the party again and take advantage of the free booze?”

Sam puts his hands on his hips, eyes scanning Dean’s face. Dean maintains his composure. “Actually, yeah. Sure. I could go for a couple.”

“Great,” Dean replies, keeping the eagerness out of his voice as he follows Sam back to the house, putting his arm around Sam’s waist possessively, fingers flirting with the jut of his hip as they knock on the door again.

This time when someone answers the door, they take in the hand on Sam’s hip first, deflating a second later. Their invite back into the house seems hesitant, however, Dean slaps on a smug smile, walking them back through the house, grabbing a drink for the both of them, ignoring Sam’s declaration that everyone is staring at them. Let them stare. Dean _wants_ them to.

After they have a few drinks between them, Dean leads Sam to a room, making sure each person they walk by sees Dean touching, kissing, licking parts of Sam’s body as Sam preens under the attention, neck flushed a nice red by the time Dean’s guiding him through an open door, throwing a warning look over his shoulder for anyone thinking they have a right to join them.

Sam lets out an _oof_ when he hits the bed, lifting his head up in time to see Dean settling on his knees, hands running up Sam’s thighs reverently.

“Will you let me worship you, Son of Odin?” Dean purrs, peeling Sam’s skirt-type-thing back, the stubble of his chin brushing up Sam’s legs, tip of his nose nuzzling a pair of beautiful, full balls. He takes a whiff of Sam’s natural musk, shuddering as it registers in his system, tongue peeking out to tease over a wrinkle.

An audible swallow is the first response. Then, “Dean, what are you talking about?”

Dean smirks, suckles on a strip of flesh, pulling back his head a touch to lift Sam’s sack off his legs. He releases it, then, teeth scraping the slightest bit that has Sam’s breath hitching. “I’m showing my appreciation, Sam. Pledging my fielty to you,” he husks, laying the skirt over Sam’s stomach, breathing hot and moist over the length of Sam’s cock. His mouth waters, wanting to get Sam nice and wet, feel him coming undone. “Isn’t that my job as a mere mortal?”

“Okay, Dean. Worship me. Whatever. Just… Do something,” Sam says, about two seconds from breaking.

That’s what Dean wants, so he runs the tip of his finger up Sam’s cock, dipping in the slit to gather the mess at the top. He brings it to his lips and sucks it off his finger, moaning at the taste. “I always wondered what the nectar of the Gods tasted like,” he says, winking at Sam before he catches the underside of Sam’s cock on his bottom lip. “Want me to make you feel like a God, Sammy?”

“Yes. God, yes. Dean—please.”

Dean has always been a tease, which is why he takes Sam’s cock in one hand and drags his stubble across it, watching Sam slap a hand over his mouth. Sam’s hips buck off the bed, body collapsing back. Sam loves it when he does this. His legs start bouncing, hand coming down to cup Dean’s chin, fingers digging into the side of his face. Dean keeps going, switching sides, letting his lips graze down the side of Sam’s cock until Sam’s twitching and gripping the sheets in a vice grip.

Only then, does Dean take the head into his mouth with one quick flick of his head. He seals one hand around the base while the other cups Sam’s balls, rolling them around, pinky-finger trailing back and forth over Sam’s beating taint, skin breathing into Sam’s skin as his tight, twitching hole opens and closes around air. Dean will get to Olympus later.

For now, he keeps his lips loose enough for Sam to feel each press over the fat head of his cock. His legs flex, tense, rise off the floor. Dean knows what he’s doing—knows how to make Sam forget exactly where he is, his perception narrowed down to this moment as he holds the tip of Sam’s cock between his lips and swipes his tongue over the slit again and again and again, Sam’s hands carding through his own hair, running down his sweat-dampened face. Sam turns over and buries his face in the sheet, teeth snatching a strip of material while Dean tickles his balls and slow-licks over the underside, smirking as Sam throbs in his hand, pushing out another drop.

Dean sucks it out, waits for Sam to still then takes him into his throat in one pull, lips touching the seal of his hand around Sam’s cock. His brother keens, groaning into the material caught between his teeth, legs spreading further. Dean pitches his fingers down, tip grazing Sam’s furled hole, relishing how it _unlocks_ for him and catches on the flesh of his digit. Dean swallows around the thickness in his throat, humming to tease Sam that little bit extra. He tries not to laugh, but Sam’s face is a damn picture, with how he’s sucking in breaths and trying desperately not to cry out.

Dean wants him to cry out. He wants him to let everyone in this building know _who_ gets him off at night. Know who Sam opens himself up to, who he comes apart at the seams for, who he prays to each time Dean fits inside him like a glove. They need to know. Dean _needs_ them to know. He just doesn’t want them to see. That’s why he angled them so that anyone who _dares_ to look through the gap in the door will only see Dean, and not Sam.

For almost a full minute, Sam’s cock rests in his throat and Dean continues to tease Sam’s hole with a single digit, gathering the spit running out of the corners of his mouth to help loosen Sam’s passage. He has lube in his pocket, but this will do for now. And Sam seems to be on board with it, teeth releasing the sheet, legs arching up and back of their own accord, if Dean didn’t know any better, Sam’s hands coming down to hook under the back of his knees.

Dean lets Sam’s cock slip free from his mouth, a string of saliva connecting them from his bottom lip, which he cuts with the tip of his tongue, staring into Sam’s eyes unabashedly.

“Will you grant me access to Olympus, my God?” Dean questions, arching an eyebrow, stroking a hand over Sam’s cock, the other sneaking one finger into Sam’s hot, eager hole.

“Yes, Dean. Yes, okay? Would you please stop teasing me?”

“I’m honored, Sammy, that you would choose me to satisfy your needs. I’m simply not worthy,” Dean replies, ignoring Sam’s desperation. He secures the lube packet from his pocket and rips it open with his teeth, using the hand that’s not currently got a finger in Sam’s ass to pour some slick over Sam’s taint. He extracts his fingers to let it pool in the divots, then pushes two inside Sam, slowly, letting him feel the whole stretch. Sam worries his bottom lip, hole contracting around Dean’s fingers. The gold cuffs reflect off the light in the room. He looks _damn_ fine. “Of course, I’m not done polishing your pole, quite yet, Sire.”

Sam gives him a _did you really just say that_ look, which turns into a stuttered curse as Dean lines up with his prostate rubbing the ridges over the small lump while he takes Sam’s cock down to the root, initiating short, quick stabs that make Sam’s thighs quiver, until he’s emptying his hot, wet load into Dean’s mouth. Dean swallows all of it, happily, keeping Sam’s cock in his mouth while he deflates. At the same time, he tests the give of his channel, holding off until the point that it doesn’t clamp tight around his fingers.

That’s when Dean knows Sam’s ready for him.

Sam’s still recovering from his orgasm, wide chest heaving, as Dean slicks up his cock and bottoms out inside him. Sam clenches, whining low in his throat as he shuffles and parts his lips when Dean leans over him, teasing Sam that little bit extra with a tilt of his head. Sam tries to connect their lips. Dean denies him, retreating at the last second as he pulls halfway out and fucks back in, hard, tearing a groan from his brother.

He starts up a smooth back and forth then, hips rippling like a wave, dragging moan after moan out of Sam, his desperation ratcheting up with each thrust in, toes curling on the small of Dean’s back. Sam’s heels dig into him then, nails slipping on his shoulders, parting the skin of his sides. Dean accepts all of them, catching Sam’s bottom lip between his teeth as he pounds harder, a broken groan vibrating through the gap in Dean’s lips.

That’s when he notices a presence in the door, eyes sliding that direction to take in the shocked, clearly turned-on girl in the doorway. He winks at them, then makes a gesture with his hand for them to shut the door. They do, probably flying down the stairs to spread the news. Dean’s glad. That’s what he’s been angling for—the whole reason he left the door open in the first place.

Sam gasps, eyes squeezing shut, legs locking tight, ass fluttering around Dean’s cock, trying to milk him. Dean’s not done, though, releasing Sam’s lip to bury his face in the crook of his neck, arms folding under Sam’s head to push in deep, hips flush with Sam’s ass and thighs. Dean grinds and grinds, wanting Sam’s senses on overdrive, his name snapped off in desperation, warning, reluctance. He takes them all in, kissing Sam’s sweaty temple, tightening his arms further, pitching back then slamming in harder, Sam’s body rocking up the bed.

Dean rises onto the balls of his feet, spreads his legs to stretch Sam out that little bit more, enabling him a better angle to start _really_ giving it to Sam good. Sam’s words get caught in his throat, eyes rolling back in his head, mouth hanging open, throat swallowing around nothing, hands sliding up and down Dean’s back, flexing against his flesh. Dean grunts from the painful digs into his ribs, but carries on, clenching his fingers at the nape of Sam’s neck, pulling him back onto each thrust, Sam’s face smothered by his chest.

“Dean—fuck… Shit—Dean, I can’t—I need—”

“I know, baby boy,” Dean assures him, holding on for dear life, fucking hard then slowing it down to a crawl, drinking in every breathless gasp, pant into his skin, teeth grazing his slick flesh, until Sam constricts him with his arms while he spills over his stomach, Dean unable to hold it any longer, following him into bliss.

They’re both fighting to get their breathing under control, Sam’s arms eventually unwinding. He looks absolutely done-in, eyes hazy, body loose-limbed and ready to drop. Dean probably needs to put his boy to bed.

“So? Did I please you, Sire?”

“Shut up, Dean.”

===

As they’re leaving the party, everyone is looking at them. Well, more specifically, Sam, who’s trying to hunch his shoulders to make himself look smaller, failing to hide behind Dean, avoiding the scrutiny of the onlookers. Dean is the picture of smugness, giving everyone a grin that says, _Yeah, I hit that. I hit it hard. All day, every day. Don’t you ever try and touch him or I’ll fucking kill you._ The message must come across, because it’s like the parting of the Red Sea on their way to the door, Sam subtly nudging him forward, clearly not wanting to be there anymore.

It’s when they’re outside that Sam slaps him round the back of the head, Dean’s hand immediately flying to the damaged spot. He whirls on Sam with a look that says _you wanna explain what that’s about,_ but Sam’s bitchface tells him he knows exactly why he left that door open—knows exactly why everyone was looking at them.

Fuck.

“That’s what I thought. I’m driving.”

“Come on… Sam? Can’t we just kiss and make up? Why you gotta be like that?! Baby?!” Dean rolls his eyes and stomps his foot. “Come on!”

END

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my twitter for future polls and have your chance to vote for which one you want. :>


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